Surmising Alliances ::Author's Cut::
by Jinnie
Summary: The wedding of Sydney and Vaughn. Also featuring J&I and ensemble. Revised, extended version.
1. The Morning It Began

- Title: _Surmising Alliances_  
- Author: A. Jinnie McManus   
- Email: imjinnie   
- Rating: PG   
- Spoilers/Timeline: Future fic. Fits with all aired _Alias_ episodes.   
- Summary:The wedding of Sydney and Vaughn. Also features J/I. Ensemble.  
- Disclaimer: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended.   
- 'Ship: S/V, some J/I   
- Archiving: Ask first. 

Author's Note: The chapters for this story may seem short, but that is because the story is told in varying points of view. In consolation, I can say that the story is completely finished, so feel free to read it knowing that you'll soon eventually see the certain blessed event alluded to here.

If you have read this story elsewhere, you still may find something new. All chapters are being revised/lengthened in anticipation for _Setting the Proposal_, the prequel to _Surmising Alliances_, which is due whenever my current story, _Presages_ finishes. Consider this the "Director's Cut" version.

**SURMISING ALLIANCES**

_Chapter One – The Morning It Began_

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He bends by the grave with utter grace, his eyes not leaving the name engraved on the stone. Almost thirty years later and a part of him still refuses to believe what he sees is real.

_William C. Vaughn _

He bows his head. Despite his grief, his eyes are closed, his every emotion carefully controlled.

In this business, who knows who could be watching?

He takes a deep breath. She doesn't know he's here. He goes for a run every morning, she would have no reason to think differently today. But if he takes much longer, she will doubtlessly go after him and he doesn't want her to see him like this.

So he reaches out a hand, tracing the elegant letters.

"Dad," he begins, "I'm getting married today."

* * *

It is, beyond a doubt, the perfect day for a wedding. Sunlight bathes Los Angeles in a bright, golden tint that seems to enhance every feeling of joy. Birds sing in the trees and squirrels chase each other through the local cemetery where Michael Vaughn kneels, unaware of anything but the stone in front of him.

Jack Bristow stands quietly behind him, close enough to keep a watchful eye, but back far enough that the young agent won't register his presence. His hands are jammed in his pockets. He is a stoic man, a man rarely out of control with his surroundings, but he has already shed more than one tear this morning.

It's not everyday one's only daughter pledges herself to her true love.

She knew he would come here, even though he had tried his best to keep such a sorrowing thought out of today's events. It was like him to do so, Jack surmised. His future son-in-law may have fallen prey to the arrogance that all young spies wear as a cloak, but he had one exception.

Sydney.

From the day they met, if she had wished it, he would have jumped off a cliff for her. Jack may have checked him for his recklessness many a time, but they had always had a mutual respect for each other. Because of her. Because if it was necessary, each would surrender their own life that she could live.

Which had almost happened, more than anyone cared to count. He closes his eyes wearily. Five long years. Five long years for the CIA to finish mopping up both SD-6, the Covenant and Sloane's plotting. Five long years for Sydney and Vaughn to fight past every hurdle life threw at them to keep them apart.

Five long years for Michael Vaughn to ask him to dinner with the question every father both longs and dreads to hear.

_Sir, I'd like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage… _

In his pockets, his hands clench into fists. He prides himself on his ability to control his emotions. It has kept him alive. But when it comes to his daughter and his future son-in-law, his ability all but disappears. It is both delightful and utterly terrifying.

By the grave, Vaughn is telling his father about Sydney and the first time they met. Jack chuckles, having already demanded to see the surveillance video of that particular day years ago.

_I'm not trying to play you. _

"Not the best pickup line in the world," Vaughn confides to his father, apparently also remembering that particular line well. "But considering my job title, I guess it wasn't too horrible."

**- to be continued -**


	2. Time For Naught

**Chapter Two - Time For Naught**

"Put the centerpieces over there," she says hurriedly. "It's clearly not going to rain, and I want to do the reception outdoors."

They nod, rushing to fulfill her requests. And then she realizes -

"No!" she barks frantically, stopping them in their tracks. "Those flowers don't match the tablecloth! Put them by the door."

Another nod of acquiescence.

"We should've just eloped," she mutters to herself, oblivious to the staff rolling their eyes at her.

She checks her watch, blowing her hair out of her eyes as she does so. Her father and Vaughn _(Michael, Sydney, call your husband Michael)_ have been gone for almost two hours. The ceremony is in five.

She sighs, wondering if she should go after them. She knows _Michael_ was merely trying to spare her feelings, to not stain her happiness today with such a sad way to begin the morning. She isn't sure whether she should be touched at his concern or irritated he thinks he can be deceptive when the wrinkles on his forehead give him away easily.

_Idiot. Good thing he's cute._

So she had asked her father to go after him, subtly of course. They should bond, after all. And given their history, it probably wasn't wise for her foolish beloved to be alone and unaccounted for on such an important day.

Besides which, Jack had needed air. If he yelled at the wedding planner one more time, she had every intention of snatching Vaughn _(Michael)_ and marrying in Vegas.

She checks her watch again, with all the frenzy of a bride-to-be counting down the hours and knowing there isn't enough time for _anything_. If they're not back in an hour, she'll go after them. And maybe even leave her gun at home when she does so. Probably not.

She stops short. _Five hours_. The ceremony is in _five hours_.

"Mom!" she explodes, sprinting desperately for the house. "Mom, _my hair_!"

* * *

She stares out the window, her steady gaze uninterrupted even by blinks. And she loses herself in memories.

She should be happy, she knows. Ecstatic. Today is the day her precious _mon petit_ fully enters independent adulthood, by wedding the woman he adores more than anything else on Earth.

Including hockey.

Amélie Vaughn allows herself a smile. Even a chuckle. She _is_ happy. Ecstatic. But that doesn't stop the memories, or the bittersweet feeling she's being robbed of one of parenthood's greatest joys.

Watching her husband's reaction as their son weds his true love.

___I miss you, William. You would have loved this. _

And then suddenly, she can't stop the liquid pooling in her eyes. This is why she chose a taxi, rather than attempting the two-hour drive from her home to Los Angeles alone.

___You would have been so proud of him!_

The driver glances at her questioningly. He's no stranger to tears, of course. He once joked to friends that only a bartender and God hear more tales of woe than he does on a daily basis. But somehow, the too-bright blue eyes of the elegant woman in his backseat strike him differently.

"Hey - " he starts, somewhat awkwardly. "Hey ma'am, you all right? I've got Kleenex in the back there, but don't touch that. Lemme get you some from my private stash."

Without slowing down or taking his eyes off the road, he opens up his glovebox with his right hand, exposing a box wrapped protectively in a clear plastic bag. She laughs at that, a full genuine-dimpled grin appearing briefly.

"Thank you," she murmurs, and he relaxes even more as her soft accent floats through the car.

"Anytime," he replies, briefly returning her grin in the rearview mirror as he proffers the tissue over his shoulder. But the moment passes, and he sighs as she starts to lose herself again in the passing view.

And then both fall silent, though with a peacefulness not present before. Amélie absently caresses the tissue in her hand, easing to a light dose under the green-eyed security of her driver.

* * *

"I love her, Dad," Vaughn says quietly. "We tried to fight it for so long. Everything had to come before us. But that's over now. I wish you could've met her."

Despite his best efforts, a tear escapes his closed eyes.

"You know what's funny?" he says suddenly, wiping the tear away. "You wouldn't have liked her. And not just because of her mother and all that. She's too much like you."

He laughs to himself.

"She's got that determination to do good no matter the cost, and no matter whom she has to punch, just like you did in all your journal entries. Same loyalty, too. And not just to people she knows. To people she'll never meet, who will live a better life because of her successes."

He swallows hard. "I look at her and I see the man she thinks I am, the man I am only when she stands beside me. And Dad, I don't know if I should be scared or proud of that."

**- to be continued -**


End file.
